There Are No Accidents
by Eve Davidson
Summary: Emma notices the bruises on Craig and forces a call to Children's Aid, and this changes things. It's no longer such a direct route for Craig to live with Joey.
1. Chapter 1

I held the money in my hand, that thick wad of money. I could hear dad's voice in my head, 'no hard feelings,' Whatever. Emma walked by, fell with the stack of books in her arms. She went flying, the books went flying. I jumped up to help her pick everything up. She looked embarrassed that she fell, then she smiled at me as I picked up her books. Then she frowned. I didn't know why, but then I saw that my shirt had lifted up and she saw that bruise, that awful scraped raw bruise from all those kicks. I just looked at her wide eyed. Shit. What was I supposed to do?

"Craig, what happened?" she said, and I ran through the list of things I could tell her. Fell off my bike, skateboard, fight with some kid, something. But she was looking at me like she was figuring things out.

"Did your dad do that because you saw Joey and Angela?" she said, and I winced. Shit, how did she know? Well, it was pretty close. But I shook my head.

"No, no, of course not. I, uh, I fell off my bike-"

"C'mon, Craig. Fell off your bike? I overheard Joey say your dad didn't want you to see him or Angela. I heard Joey say that your dad had gone down to the car lot to tell him that. He did that to you, didn't he?"

I wanted to cry. Things were that obvious? But I couldn't just tell her, admit to her that my dad beat the shit out of me. I couldn't.

"No, Emma, he didn't, okay? It was an _accident_, that's _all_,"

"Yeah, well, Craig, I don't believe you, okay? Because you wouldn't look so guilty if it was some bike accident,"

It was like some war. It was my first taste of the crusader side of Emma Nelson. But why did her crusade have to involve me?

"C'mon," she said, grabbing my hand, pulling me down the hall. I was too dazed to resist. I just let her pull me and I tried to breathe around the pain in my ribs. She pulled me to the office and held tight to my hand, actually she held my wrist.

"We need to see Ms. Suave," she said to the secretary and I just stared at her. She had this voice of authority, and it was kind of amazing in a 13 year old girl. I started to pull away, I was going to run. But she held my wrist tight and jerked me back.

"Now," she said to the secretary. The secretary didn't look all that hurried, probably she was used to Emma coming in and demanding things. But then she looked at me and I don't know what she saw that made her interrupt Ms. Suave.

"Who's Ms. Suave?" I whispered to Emma, and I felt her hand tighten up on my wrist. A little girl's hand and still I didn't like that pressure, that feeling of someone forcing me to do things.

"She's the counselor," she said, and I didn't say anything. Didn't move, either. I'm sure I could have. I could have ripped my hand out of her grasp and just ran.

"Emma," It had to be this Ms. Suave. Tall, jet black straight as silk hair, dark eyes. Kind eyes. They were filled with a type of sympathy I usually avoided.

"We have to talk to you in your office," Emma said, and Ms. Suave opened the door to her office, opened it wide. Emma pulled me inside and only when the door was shut did she let me go. I rubbed my wrist, and I could see the bruises that were on it from my dad. Just faint purple bruises.

"What is it, Emma?" Ms. Suave said in this calm voice. I liked her voice. I was looking down and glancing at the door, but Ms. Suave stood in front of it, effectively trapping me.

"His father hits him, beats him, and I think we should call Children's Aid," Emma did not pull any punches. I kept looking down but I felt my cheeks burning red. And then they were talking so softly to each other, like I couldn't even hear them. They whispered, 'what's his name?' and the whispered answer, "Craig. Craig Manning,'

"Is this true, Craig?" Ms. Suave said, and I could feel her looking at me. I couldn't take my eyes off this spot on the floor I had chosen to focus on. I couldn't answer.

"Yeah, it's true!" Emma said, indignant, self-righteous, "show her the bruises, Craig,"

Looking down, shaking my head. I wanted to die. But I was so sick of lying about it, about this. I'd been lying for so long. I just didn't think I had the energy to do it anymore. I lifted up my shirt, looking away, looking out the window at the bright blue day as they gasped. Tears came to my eyes and spilled down my cheeks and I let my shirt fall from my hand so that it covered everything again.


	2. Chapter 2

There was this moment where it was like frozen. I was frozen. This Ms. Suave person knew, she saw the bruises I always hid. An adult, an authority figure knew about it now and that was bad. Bad, bad, bad. This was the deep secret. No one could know. No one. And now someone did. I didn't know how much more I could admit. I wanted to deny it all. People got injured in other ways, it wasn't all from being hit and kicked and strapped.

"Craig?" I still wasn't looking at them, at either of them. I wanted to just crawl under the floor. I could feel my cheeks burning red. This was so embarrassing. Pity. Sympathy. Tears drying on my cheeks. I wiped them angrily away.

"Your father did this to you?" Ms. Suave asked so gently, her voice was so nice and kind and it made me feel weird. Like I wasn't myself. And I felt like they were both being careful around me and with me, careful with what they said and how they said it. But it was also taking on the tones of unreality. Like a dream. Or a T.V. show from the fifties that was in black and white and the people kept making references to things you'd never heard of.

"No," I said, and my voice sounded far away. I blinked. I couldn't breathe right, I felt dizzy.

"Craig, come here, sit down," She lead me to a chair, a comfortable overstuffed chair and I just sunk into it. I heard her tell Emma to go back to class and Emma left quietly, and I heard the door softly click behind her.

"Craig, I know this is hard for you, and you don't want your father to get into trouble. But if he did that to you, if he hurt you like that, it probably isn't going to get better. He'll hurt you worse than that. But if you tell someone then you can both get help. If he's hurting you he needs help, too. So take a deep breath, relax," She took a deep breath when she told me to do it and I did, pulling the air into my lungs, trying to relax but I couldn't at all.

"Did your father hurt you?" she said, and I closed my eyes. I couldn't look at her.

"Yeah," I said, and my voice was all shaky, "he did,"

"Okay, we'll get you help," she said.

Help. What kind of help would that be? Arresting my father? That wouldn't be good. None of this was good. I never should have let Emma do this. I should have lied, kept lying. I watched her pick up the phone and call Children's Aid, and I thought that maybe it was okay. Enough was enough, after all. I was tired of being hit all the time, of worrying about everything all the time. Just tired.

Still, it hurt to change things. Even when those things are bad, it hurt. I listened to her explain that I was being beaten and that they should send someone right away because I was in school and it would be better if I didn't have to go home today and I listened with this incredulous feeling. It was almost like she wasn't even talking about me.

She hung up the phone, smiled at me, a sad little smile. I gripped the arms of the chair I was sitting in. My head was starting to ache. My mouth felt dry.

"Someone from Children's Aid is going to come and talk to you, ask you some questions," she said, and I groaned. Talking, talking, talking. I didn't want to talk. I didn't want to do this.

"Okay," I said, and the headache pounded in my temples. I didn't know if I should go back to class or what, but I didn't think I could really concentrate too well.

All I could think was how mad my dad would be, but then I'd think maybe that wouldn't matter anymore. Maybe he really did need help, that he lost his patience too much no matter how stressful work was.


	3. Chapter 3

Sitting and waiting. Feeling my teeth with my tongue. My dad was going to kill me, somehow. I'd never be able to make this up to him. I closed my eyes, feeling so damn guilty.

"It's not your fault, Craig," Ms. Suave said like she was reading my mind.

"Yes it is," I told her, feeling the tears want to start again but I blinked them back, "I make my dad mad because I'm a terrible kid," I told her this as calmly as I could but this was the truth. I made him angry. I didn't follow the rules. I hadn't quite figured out all of the rules but that didn't matter.

"You are not a terrible kid," she said, and she leaned toward me in her chair. She seemed so nice.

"How do you know?" I said, realizing that this was kind of rude, and ordinarily I wouldn't say anything like that, but this wasn't ordinary, "you don't know that,"

"What have you done that you deserve to be beaten for?" she said, and I closed my eyes. I didn't know but it was my fault. It was always my fault.

I kept looking at things, odd things, like the corner of the window, the gold edge of her necklace, the way my shoelace touched the floor. Disconnected things. I felt disconnected.

When the guy from Children's Aid showed up I was surprised by how young he was. Or how young he looked. He wore jeans. I thought it would be more formal somehow.

"Hi, Craig," he said, and I didn't like how he just knew my name. I know Ms. Suave told him but still, I didn't like it.

"Hi," I said quietly, kind of mumbled it. I wished I was anywhere else. Taking pictures would be nice. Being at the park with Angie. Sleeping. Playing a video game, even sitting in some boring class, anything. But instead I was here listening to this guy, who told me his name was Walter, listening to him explain about being from Children's Aid and what their role was in the community, in Toronto, all of that.

"Are you being hurt by someone?" he said, and I sighed. This just wouldn't seem to end.

"Yeah," I said, and I felt so stupid. So embarrassed, like it never should have happened at all and I shouldn't be telling these people. Was I crazy?

"Is it your dad who's hurting you?" he said, and I closed my eyes, felt the hot tears slip from under my lids. All I could do was nod, I didn't want to speak anymore, answer any more questions or even look at anyone. I wanted to retreat into this shell, a safe soundproof shell where no one could see me, not even myself.

"Okay, Craig, it's okay," he said, and he patted my shoulder. I wouldn't open my eyes. I shrugged away from him. Don't touch me, I wanted to scream. I wanted to leave this office so bad but I couldn't. I knew I couldn't so I just sat there, head down.

I heard Ms. Suave get him away from me, her soft voice saying it had been enough for me. I heard them talking about particulars, that I lived alone with my dad so there weren't any other kids to worry about. I heard him ask her if there was anyone I could stay with, and she said she didn't know. She said maybe I could stay at The Bridge, and I knew that was some kind of place for kids who needed foster homes.

"Craig," Ms. Suave said, and I opened my eyes and looked at her. That Walter guy was standing near the doorway.

"I'm going to discuss some things with Walter, you can stay here," she said, and I nodded. I was glad they were leaving for awhile. I needed to be alone.


	4. Chapter 4

I felt this weird kind of fear. This fear like things would never be the same. I mean, that should be good, right? Since in so many ways my life sucked. But it wasn't. What if things ended up worse? They could. I knew they could.

I sat in the chair looking out the window, listening to Ms. Suave and Walter talk about me. It seemed almost like T.V., like those sappy made for T.V. movies where terrible things keep happening. Ms. Suave was saying he needed to find a place for me to go now, or at the very least before the end of the school day. He assured her that he would, that he'd make phone calls and it would be all set.

I was mad at Emma. This was her fault. She dragged me into this office, she told Ms. Suave that my dad was beating me. It wasn't her business.

Walter left, assuring Ms. Suave that he would call her and let her know as soon as he secured a placement. That's what he said, 'secured a placement,'. I blinked, took a deep breath. I just felt so stupid. It felt better when this was all a secret. When no one knew but me.

"Craig," Ms. Suave said, her voice still soft and nice. I still didn't want to talk to her or to anyone else, but I guessed that wasn't really an option.

"Yeah?"

"Do you want to go back to class?"

"Yeah," I didn't hesitate. I wanted to get back to something closer to normal. In class I could pretend like nothing had happened. I'd just avoid Emma Nelson.

It was nice to be back in class, listening to the teacher. Not being the focus of so much negative attention. And I almost put it out of my mind. I'd nearly succeeded in it until Ms. Suave came knocking on the door of my last class of the day and spoke quietly to the teacher, and they both glanced at me. Then it all came rushing back and I felt nauseas.

"Craig," the teacher said, and I nodded. I stood up and walked toward Ms. Suave, my head down. Followed her to her office and closed the door so softly behind us.

"Walter found a place for you to stay tonight. It's called The Bridge, it's sort of a group home for kids who need foster care…"

I started to tune her out. Foster care? What if I ended up with some family that was worse? This sucked. Everything about it sucked. I wanted to tell her about Joey and my sister Angie, that maybe I could stay with them. But I almost laughed. Joey would love that. He hadn't seen me in nearly three years and now all of a sudden I would be coming to live with him. That didn't seem to be an option.

"So Walter will be coming to pick you up and he'll drive you there," she finished, and I just stared at her. I could still feel the pain from when dad kicked me yesterday. I was mad at him, I was. But I felt like he'd be mad at me for this.

"Uh, what about my dad?" I said, and I imagined him sitting at home tonight when I was supposed to come home and wondering where I was. Or maybe they'd haul him off to jail. I didn't know.

"Your dad has been informed," she said.

"He has?"

"Yes," She was looking at me steadily, maybe expecting me to freak out or something. But I felt like this wasn't really happening.


	5. Chapter 5

I just kept thinking this wasn't happening. I wished I hadn't said anything, that Emma hadn't seen anything. I didn't want to go to this group home place. Maybe I'd rather get beaten. I closed my eyes, thinking of all the times my dad had strapped me, had lifted me off the floor and threw me to the ground. No, I guess not. This just sucked.

"Ready to go, Craig?" It was Walter. I was sitting outside the office waiting for him. So I thought of how I didn't have any stuff, any clothes, any anything.

"Yeah," I said, and I got up and followed him to his car that was parked just outside. His car smelled weird, like some cherry air freshener or something.

"What about my stuff?" I said as he pulled away from the curb.

"We'll stop at your house," he said, and I knew my dad wouldn't be home this early so it was okay.

"You have a key, right?" he said, and I nodded. He drove to my house, and I slumped down in the seat, trying not to feel this free floating anxiety. But I couldn't help it. It filled every cell.

0000000000000000000000000000000

The Bridge looked like it was a high school in the sixties or something. It looked institutional. But I didn't care. At this point I didn't care about anything. There was a long walkway leading up to the double front doors, and I followed Walter by a few steps, holding my bag. I brought clothes for a week and my toothbrush and stuff. I left all my video games and books and all that shit.

Inside, there were these long hallways that were waxed and gleaming in certain spots but scuffed up mostly. Rooms were off of these, and I heard a T.V. coming from somewhere. I could picture it. An old crappy T.V. in a room with a lot of sturdy furniture and kids all over the place and you'd hardly be able to hear the T.V. because of everyone talking, so it would just be pictures.

There was this desk, like in hospitals, and there were charts and computers and phones with all the buttons on them for the different lines. I stood next to Walter, blinking too much, my bag feeling heavy and hurting my injured side. This ache of being hurt, at least that would go away. It would go away for good this time.

I could smell this food smell, but not good. It smelled like cafeterias, too much food all mass produced, overcooked vegetables and breaded slabs of chicken. Low fat chocolate milk in those mini cartons that tasted like water.

"Craig, this is Mrs. Green. She'll get you settled in," Walter said, and he was all but glancing at his watch and straining his neck to look at the light outside. He was ready to go. I was a prisoner here. But I nodded at him and watched him go.

"Hi, Craig," Mrs. Green said. She was not really fat but just wide, and her short hair was equal parts gray and black. She looked like she might be nice but also like she wouldn't take any shit. I licked my lips and said hi, and shook her hand that she offered. I was getting sick of meeting people today.

"This is your room," she said, bringing me down a hall and to a room with four beds. I'd never shared a room in my life. The closest I ever came was being at camp. But that was different. That was kind of like vacation.

"You can put your stuff here," she said, gesturing to a closet, one of four. It looked like a locker.

"But I have to go through it first," she said with this funny challenging smile. I lowered my head. I bet some kids fought her on that. And it made me feel bad. Weird. Like what did she think? Did she think I brought a knife or a gun or something? Did she think I was a psycho? Or maybe she thought I brought drugs or alcohol. I watched her go through my stuff, just clothes basically. She searched the pockets of my jeans that she unfolded, she turned the socks inside out, and when she was satisfied she put everything back. Then she said she had to search the jacket I was wearing. I took it off and let her rummage through the pockets. What next? Strip search? But she stopped at my leather jacket, handing it back to me and smiling her regular smile again. My stomach felt twisted. I was still mad at Emma.


	6. Chapter 6

Two of the boys in this room were a lot younger, and they seemed to have ADD. They were jumping on the bed and making a racket until some guy came by and told them to quiet down. It was getting late. Maybe it was 11 o'clock or maybe midnight. I was laying in the bed, and it was narrow and not really comfortable, but I didn't care. My bed at home was really comfortable because it was really expensive, like everything at home.

There was a guy out in the hallway, he worked here. He was like a night babysitter. I thought this was all so strange, this place with all the sturdy furniture and all the kids crammed into it. Were all these kids from families like mine? I could see the guy from where I was, he was sitting in a fold out chair and reading a magazine, and he was one of those guys that always seemed to be smiling. Every once in a while a kid would barrel out into the hall and talk to him, and he'd laugh and smile with the kid. He seemed like a cool guy, but he was kind of like some sort of surrogate for these kids, for whatever their family couldn't give them. I thought about what my family couldn't give me.

The young kids finally drifted off to sleep and that left me and the other older kid in here awake. He looked like he was probably my age, and he had dark hair and light eyes. His name was Derek.

"Craig," he stage whispered over to me, and I turned my head toward him. I thought of pretending to be asleep but decided not to.

"What?" I whispered back.

I could see the streetlights outside and the cars that would drive by. It made the room light up for that brief second, and I could see the two little kids sleeping, mouths open and passed out looking.

"How'd you get here?" he said, and I kind of wondered what he meant, how deep into it he wanted to go. I went to the middle.

"It was this girl at school…"

He waited for me to go on but I didn't. I closed my eyes and thought of Emma dragging me to the office and to Ms. Suave, how I felt forced into spilling the secret I'd kept so long and so well.

"Well, what happened?" he said, leaning on his elbow in bed, half sitting up.

"I don't know. My dad hit me and this girl at school figured it out and told the guidance counselor so here I am,"

He nodded gravely, and I noticed how red his lips looked in this weird light.

"Yeah, me, too. My parents won't stop drinking, and my dad hits me, too. What about your mom?"

"She's dead," I said, and he nodded again. Nothing fazed this kid, and I kind of liked that, not like everyone else. When they found out my mom was dead I'd get these pitying looks. I hated that.

I was laying there worrying about my dad. What was he thinking? Maybe he hated me. Maybe he blamed me for all of this. Oh, he was probably so mad at me. I dreaded seeing him again, and I wondered how I ever would. Maybe he'd go to anger management or something and get me back. I didn't know. Would he even bother? Maybe he was happier without me.

Would Derek's parents stop drinking so they could get him back? And what about these other two kids in here? What was the deal with their parents? Had they been running crystal meth labs in their basements?

Sleep was a long time coming but finally I managed to fall asleep, the worry still circling around my head and resulting in dreams where I ran from some half seen monster, but I could never go fast enough and I couldn't scream and I ended up getting devoured.


End file.
